


Red

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cannibalism, Fairytale format, Illustrated, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there was a boy. We will call this boy Little Red, both for the sake of mystery and, well, the sake of staying true to what the villagers have ‘named’ him, born from his habit of wearing a red riding hood.</p><p>This boy, who eventually grows up to the age of eighteen, meets a rather hungry wolf.</p><p>[In response to the Genre-blending theme in HSWC, with the themes being: Fairytale and Horror.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

Once upon a time, there was a boy. We will call this boy Little Red, both for the sake of mystery and, well, the sake of staying true to his usual clothing choice. He was commonly called Little Red by the villagers because he was always seen wearing a red riding hood whenever he passed through the streets, even as a child and until the current point of our story. The hood he always wore was given to him by Grandma Jade (a pleasant old woman that was in no way his actual grandmother, but he called her this anyway), and, considering his habit of wearing it, he (usually) didn’t mind the nickname. (A lot of boys would be annoyed with being called little, and Dave was one of them.)  
  
Little Red had an older brother he called Bro. His real name was Dirk, but Little Red thought that it didn’t suit him. Bro was perfect. Bro as a person was perfect too, although Little Red would only ever grudgingly admit it. This was for the reason of not appearing too clingy and childish. But those thoughts eventually stopped, after a few years passed. Because when Little Red was fifteen, Bro left home to hunt for food and never came back. It was only the day after that led the villagers to woods, where they found Bro’s corpse flocked by crows that pecked at his body for food.  
  
From then on, Little Red was lonely. He wasn’t alone, not really, not with the number of friends whom he couldn’t possibly let go of. But he felt lonely, and sad, and helpless. He didn’t like feeling sad, so he never stayed too long in his home. He spent his nights and his waking moments there, but he almost always left for Grandma Jade’s company as soon as he felt awake enough for it.  
  
“You could always live with me,” Grandma Jade had said one afternoon, just as Little Red was preparing coffee for her.  
  
[](http://imgur.com/qijMQ0z)  
  
“I can’t,” Little Red had replied. “It was Bro’s home too. I don’t want to stay there too long, considering how it feels like his ghost is haunting me even though I know it’s not because he’s not  _that_  much of a creepy fuck to do that even in the afterlife, but it’s still home. My home and his.”  
  
Grandma Jade had smiled, said that she understood, and that was it. Sure, she asked Little Red about it again and again with each week, but the answer was always the same. Little Red was convinced that Grandma Jade only asked because she always forgot that she already did.   
  
It was the same pattern, over and over, and Little Red had thought that he would live with it forever, or for as long as his life would last. He had thought that nothing more could change for him, which, as we shall find out, is very wrong. Because when Little Red turned eighteen and left for the woods to celebrate with Grandma Jade, he met a wolf.  
  
[](http://imgur.com/4GuRe9p)   
  
“Hello,” said the wolf from the shadows, his fangs gleaming under bits of sunlight. “What’re you doing in these woods?”  
  
“I’d say that’s none of your business, but I don’t really give a damn,” replied Little Red as he stopped in his walking. “I’m off to visit my grandma. Or pseudo-grandma, as blood ties go.”  
  
Unbeknownst to Little Red, the wolf had intended on eating him. So the wolf kept talking, stalling Little Red from going. When Little Red relaxed would be the time that the wolf struck. “So you’re not really related?”  
  
“Pretty much.”  
  
“Then why call her grandma?”  
  
“Because she’s old? I have nothing else to call her. It’d feel weird to call her Jade since I’m already used to calling her grandma,” said Little Red. He thought to himself, ‘Bro had been the one who called her Grandma Jade in the first place, and I followed suit.’  
  
“I guess that makes sense,” said the wolf.  
  
Little Red shrugged and began walking, not at all complaining when the wolf followed behind him. “Guess it does. It’s not like there’s much else I can call her by. Harley? Sounds snooty. Jade? Sounds too familiar. Grandma is more comfortable as monikers go.”  
  
“Why are you visiting her then?”  
  
“She’s alone in her cottage, and I want to keep her company. Well, more like I need her company.” Little Red shrugged. “I get lonely a lot. It’s a miserable feeling.”  
  
For a moment, one unmistakable moment, the wolf felt sympathy for Little Red. He found it disconcerting. “Why?”  
  
Little Red looked up at the wolf then, raising a brow at him. “I don’t know? I can’t really explain it. It must be because my brother died. He was the only family I had left.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” said the wolf sincerely. “I didn’t know.”  
  
“Not your fault, it’s fine,” reassured Little Red. “I’m over it, anyway. Mostly over it. I’m a big boy now, eighteen and all, I should be able to handle a little loss. I can’t grieve forever.”  
  
“I guess not,” conceded the wolf.   
  
For the first time in a long time, Little Red smiled. The wolf did not know that it was a rare expression, but he felt incredibly heartened to see it anyway. “I have to go, unfortunately,” said Little Red as he stopped walking, twisting around to bid the wolf a salute. “I’ll see you when I see you.”  
  
With that, Little Red left, disappearing into the woods without a trace. Not one sound could be heard as a signal of where he was. It was only later that the wolf realized that he did not eat his fill of lunch, and yet, he did not feel regret for letting Little Red go.  
  
If the wolf were any more honest with himself, he’d admit that he wanted to see Little Red again. (He was, in fact, more honest than most wolves.)  
  
As such, the wolf waited once more in the woods the day after, and the day after that, always hoping to meet Little Red again, if only for a moment of conversation or a quick meal. He had thought that the ease of conversing came to him only because Little Red didn’t care much that he was a wolf, and so he had thought of eating Little Red in case another conversation with him proved to be disappointing.  
  
His waiting came to fruition when Little Red walked by a week after, a satchel on his shoulder as he walked through the woods.  
  
“Hello,” said the wolf as he came near.  
  
“Hi,” said Little Red, a small smile on his lips as he stopped in his walking. “We meet again, mister wolf. Do you really live around these parts? I’m starting to think you creep around just waiting for prey to arrive.”  
  
Oh, how true it was. But the wolf could not admit to it, not if he wanted to get away with another meal. So he said, “I like to appreciate nature when I can.”  
  
“Sure you do.”  
  
“You don’t believe me?”  
  
“I’m sure the little squirrels you eat for dinner believe you.”  
  
The wolf couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Squirrels are too small to keep me full. They’re just snacks for a growing wolf.”  
  
Little Red hid a laugh by covering his mouth with one hand. “Mmhm. Is venison enough for a growing wolf?”  
  
“Only for dinner,” said the wolf with a smile. Little Red chuckled.  
  
“That is one terribly morbid sense of humor you have there,” said Little Red.  
  
“I wouldn’t have noticed,” said the wolf, a wry tone in his voice.  
  
“Hilarious.”  
  
“I know I am.”  
  
“I’d hate to burst your bubble, but you might not even have a good sense of humor in your own dreams,” said Little Red as he started walking again. The wolf didn’t mind accompanying him, half with the reassurance that Little Red would be his dinner today, the other half just wanting to stay with Little Red for the company.  
  
The wolf shook his head. “I’ll have you know that I’m absolutely hilarious and that you just don’t have the appropriate sense of humor to appreciate it.”  
  
“That’s not how hilarity works.”  
  
“It works in my world.”  
  
“Must be a really sad and ego-centric world you’re living in. Lalonde would have a field day with you.”  
  
The wolf cocked his head in question. “Lalonde?”  
  
“Friend of mine who’s obsessed with psychoanalyzing things,” answered Little Red. “Real pretty, blond hair and lavender eyes. I don’t even know if they’re contacts or if it’s her real eye color.”  
  
The wolf nodded. “Are you two together?”  
  
“What?” said Little Red, sounding scandalized. “No! She’s like my sister. In a weirdly incestuous way, but no, we’re not an item. A couple. Whatever.”  
  
“Incestuous?” repeated the wolf in question.  
  
“Jokingly flirting with each other, that sort of thing. We’d never really, y’know, do each other. Besides that, I think she’s into another girl with this weird-ass name. Kanye or something.”  
  
“That does sound pretty weird,” agreed the wolf.   
  
“Doesn’t it?” said Little Red. He stopped in the middle of walking, turning around to face the wolf with a tiny smile on his face. “Alas, I must bid you adieu, my wolf-y friend. I’ll see you when I see you, again. Don’t be too much of a creeper next time, a’ight?”  
  
“I can’t make any promises,” said the wolf, smiling and saluting back when Little Red directed a salute his way. “See you.”  
  
And so it went on. They met week after week, trading stories and bantering to their hearts’ content until loneliness was only a memory long gone. With each meeting the wolf fell more and more, becoming less keen on making a feast out of Little Red and instead wishing for his company for as long as he could have it. Little Red was no different: he found something in the wolf that he could not find in anyone else, found a companion that didn’t treat him like he’d break with each mention of his brother. If anything, the pain of losing Bro had dulled into a passing ache with all the time that he’d spent conversing with the wolf. It was something short of a miracle.  
  
It came as a surprise to Little Red that he wasn’t surprised at all when, one day, the wolf bared his fur to him and showed off a very human body. ‘Thank god he’s wearing clothes,’ thought Little Red to himself in passing.  
  
[](http://imgur.com/m53SFly)   
  
“I’m a bit surprised you aren’t screaming yet,” said the wolf.   
  
(Little Red thought, ‘Was he still a wolf? Manwolf? Wolfman? God, this shit is complicated.’)  
  
“I’m a bit surprised that I’m not surprised, to be honest,” said Little Red. “Were you always a dude underneath all that wolf skin?”  
  
“Pretty much.” The wolf grinned, a little on the sheepish side. “The wolf skin was a protective thing, mostly. People are usually scared of wolves.  _You_ , on the other hand, are a crazy-ass person.”  
  
Little Red raised both of his hands in surrender. “Man, I’m not even going to deny that. Why tell me now? Why not just keep the whole charade up until I actually thought I was talking to a wolf like the insane person I am?”  
  
“Calm down,” said the wolf, showing both palms to Little Red to try and calm him. “I didn’t think our, uh. Relationship? Would last long enough for me to ever have to tell you. But I figured three months is enough time for me to trust you with this.”  
  
“You’re a douchebag, and I should be angry at you for fooling me this whole time,” began Little Red, arms folded over his chest, “but I’m not gonna do that, because I’m a decent person and an awesome friend.”  
  
The wolf winced. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Little Red rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do I call you now? I can’t keep up with calling you wolf, considering how you’re, well, not a wolf.”  
  
“You can call me John,” said the wolf. He blinked for a moment, almost as if he had a revelation, before asking, “Wait. I- uh- I never asked for your name.”

“Oh my god,” said Little Red. “We’ve been talking for two- scratch that,  _three_  months, and you don’t know my name?”  
  
“It never came up!” cried John. “I didn’t think to ask! You never asked for my name either, you know.”  
  
“You were a wolf, I didn’t think a name was necessary,” needled Little Red. “Christ. People call me Little Red. I think you can tell why,” he said while gesturing to his red riding hood.  
  
John frowned. “What’s your real name?”  
  
Little Red frowned back. “You’re not gonna go with the nickname? Seriously?”  
  
“I think a person’s true name has more power than any nickname,” said John with a shrug. “Besides, I told you my real name. It’s fair if you give me your real name in return.” And it was true. The power of one’s name was why various creatures in the night didn’t give their true names, as it would bind them to the person whom they’d have told. Little Red was not aware of this, seeing as he had not yet encountered a creature that had such knowledge.   
  
But John didn’t want Little Red’s name just for that. Holding another person’s true name was possession, a sign that their relationship was as real as they were. He wanted something of Little Red’s that would be his to own. And if people only ever called him Little Red without ever knowing his true name, then it was all the better for John, who was very possessive as most wolves were.  
  
“Dave,” said Little Red with a sigh, sounding put off. The smile on his face gave the pretense away, though. “My name is Dave.”  
  
“Dave,” repeated John, tasting the name on his tongue. It felt perfect to him, like finding a home, and he grinned. “Nice to meet you, Dave.”  
  
“The pleasure is mine, John,” said Dave. The name fell from his lips with ease, as though it had always been waiting to be  _known_ , and Dave felt warm with comfort from the thought of it. The thought was infinitely cheesy, but he disregarded that. (‘Better to be honest with oneself,’ Little Red thought.) “I’ll see you when I see you?” He said, backing away into the woods, his grip on his satchel tight.  
  
“I’ll see you when I see you,” agreed John, waving farewell to Dave as he left.  
  
On and on it went, their meetings becoming longer with each day and becoming twice in one week until it grew into a daily basis, all without Dave seeking out his Grandma Jade as an excuse. John would occasionally don the wolf skin, which would notify Dave that he had gone hunting, and Dave would occasionally bring food to eat (which was always meat, as per John’s request) and apple juice to share as John began teaching him the techniques for hunting deer.  
  
But as time passed and Dave spent more time with John, he was left unaware of John’s hunts coming closer and closer to home. It began with the small brunet child with broken legs, then the blind girl with red hair, the petite girl with blond hair and a cat-like disposition, until he finally reached Rose Lalonde, pretty as Dave had called her, and served her to Dave as cooked ‘pig’ meat.  
  
John could tell that Dave’s eyes were red-rimmed from crying even behind his spectacles when he met with him the week after, but it didn’t stop him from feeling the shiver of pleasure when Dave ate the meat from his plate. “It’s good,” said Dave, a lopsided smile on his face, the expression forced on by sheer will as he chewed on the food. “If I knew you could cook so well I would’ve just let you do all the cooking.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy your cooking if I did that,” said John. Dave smiled a genuine smile at him and, despite the fact that it was small, it was enough for John to feel satisfied. So he didn’t stop feeding Dave the meat from his hunts, only making certain that he let it all happen in random intervals so that Dave would not grow suspicious of his fellow villagers’ deaths.   
  
Yet John could not help the urge one day, could not bear to deny his instincts calling to  _claim_  Dave when Dave told him, “Grandma Jade lives by the river in one of those little cottages. You know those homey looking things that are usually be attributed to Hansel and Gretel? It’s like that- except it’s not made of candies and biscuits, obviously.”   
  
“Hmm,” hummed John, his mind elsewhere as he thought. Dave took no notice of it, respecting John’s right to zone out as he almost always did. But what Dave did not know was that John sought to kill Grandma Jade, thinking that feeding her to him would bring them both closer. ‘Surely,’ thought John, ‘Dave will appreciate it if I let him eat her. What better way to be closer to the people you love than having them be your life source?’  
  
With that in mind, John set out for Grandma Jade’s house, not much of a plan at hand seeing as the old lady would, most definitely, not struggle. (Old ladies were commonly frail, after all.)  
  
Dave, meanwhile, had already suspected that the information about Grandma Jade would cost him, but he didn’t think to follow John as he left. He had doubts about John’s innocence ever since the deaths of certain friends of his and John’s simultaneous disappearances (and appearances with certain meaty food), yet he kept his friendship with John for god knew what reasons. (Their friendship, the supposed intimacy that Dave already had with John; there were various reasons for it that Dave didn’t understand.)   
  
A day later, John returned with a serving of roasted heart to the sight of a pale-faced Dave, the latter of whom having recently seen Grandma Jade’s corpse. Dave didn’t react negatively to the food, nor did he react at all, but he ate anyway, his body leaning into John’s as his shoulders slumped forward. “We found the body cut open, right by the chest,” said Dave after finishing his meal, not once mentioning Grandma Jade, although he didn’t have to.   
  
“I’m sorry,” said John, an arm wrapping around Dave’s shoulders. Dave relaxed at the touch, his body curling forward as he let his head rest on John’s lap. “I’m sorry, Dave,” repeated John.  
  
“Not your fault,” murmured Dave, eyes already shut as John began stroking his hair. The motion was gentle, affectionate, and Dave would laugh had he not felt bereft at Grandma Jade’s death. How ironic it was, that the person who sought to comfort Dave was the very killer that took his kin.  
  
Dave had suspected it ever since one of his friend’s death, when he’d found her body cut open by the stomach, and the day after when John served him cooked liver. Grandma Jade’s death only confirmed it, considering how John was one of the nine people other than him who knew of her whereabouts. The other eight were already dead before her. And yet Dave slept, all too comfortably, John’s warm hand stroking soothing crooked lines along his scalp as he faded into dreams. He did not know if it was his own insanity at work, or John’s insanity affecting him, but he knew one thing. There was no logic to it, no rhyme or reason, but he felt safe in John’s hold, needed and wanted, and it was unlike anything else he’d felt after Bro’s death. So he didn’t run, didn’t cry or blame John or  _ask_ him why it was that he did the things that he did. He just stayed, slept, letting go of the heavy weight pulling at his stomach as he succumbed to dreams and darkness in John’s lap. There was no time for worrying.  
  
Weeks went by after Grandma Jade’s death and it was as though nothing happened, the grief becoming a flicker of memories as Dave spent more of his time with John. The hollow feeling was filled with distraction, with hunts for wild animals and tales of the good and wicked, and it was fine. They were fine, or as fine as they could be considering the circumstances.  
  
They were finished with a hunt, already cooking the venison over an open fire, when John said, all sincerity and openness, “I’d eat you.” There was no mistake that John meant what he said, his blue eyes flickering orange from the fire, and Dave did not doubt that John would be the one to kill him one day and consume him after.  
  
(If anything, he felt a little relieved at the notion. It was fucked up.)  
  
“I’d let you,” said Dave. John looked up at him in surprise, eyes wide in disbelief, until Dave shrugged and started poking at the venison with a stick. “Eat or be eaten. Life is a piece of crap but I’d rather have it end knowing that you’re the reason for it. I trust you.” Dave looked to John then, one corner of his lips quirking up into a small smile. “I’d prefer having some use even after I’m dead than just being a rotten corpse buried under the ground.”  
  
John stared at him then in wonder, new possibilities unfolding before him, and he grinned. “That’s philosophical of you, Dave.”  
  
“Isn’t it?” said Dave with a wry smile.  
  
Weeks turned into months and months into years, and Dave gradually grew accustomed to his home again all without his own awareness of it- that is, until he led John to his house and let him remain there during the cold evenings. It was during one of those starry nights, when John was in his bed and slumbering, that he realized how didn’t feel haunted anymore. He felt comfortable, almost tranquil, and as he trailed his cold fingers on John’s cheek he understood: he was happy. He smiled then, sliding down into the sheets, and curled into John’s heat with a whisper of, “You make a damn comfortable furnace.” John mumbled in turn, still asleep, but automatically wrapped an arm around Dave when he shifted closer.  
  
It was when they were lazing around a week after underneath the dark sky, having already eaten dinner, that Dave rolled over and pinned John to the ground- which didn’t take much effort, considering how John didn’t struggle. “I’m going to kiss you now,” said Dave, almost breathless with anticipation, and John laughed.  
  
“What are you waiting for, Dave?” said John in turn, his laughter cut short when Dave immediately pressed his lips into John’s own. It was messy, and awkward, and they were laughing as they tried to find a way to fit their noses away from each other. It became quiet once they found a way around it, Dave having tilted his head to the right to fit his lips onto John’s (all without their bothersome spectacles), until John reached up and tugged Dave down, closer, the kiss deepening as he opened his mouth against Dave’s.   
  
[](http://imgur.com/2jtpMUd)   
  
“I love you,” said John as he broke away from the kiss, the words a promise that Dave would be his till his last breath.   
  
Dave smiled in turn, pressing his forehead into John’s, his eyes still closed as he basked in their shared warmth. “I know,” said Dave, laughing when John flipped them over in response. Dave succumbed when John kissed him, the passion and heat of John’s kisses all-consuming, and he reached his arms out, wrapping them around John’s shoulders as he whispered in between each press of their lips, “I love you too.”  
  
And they lived happily ever after.


End file.
